


in this life that we call home

by thebitterbuffalo



Category: Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, he also runs an orphanage because I said so, in which swaine fucking dies of boomeritis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24532306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebitterbuffalo/pseuds/thebitterbuffalo
Summary: “Father would be proud of you, Swaine.”“To hell with what he thinks.” Swaine turned to face Marcassin, smiling. “Are you?”“Good gods, of course,” he sobbed, unable to restrain himself. “Of course.”-The adventure had ended, a good life had been lived, and it is Swaine’s time to rest.
Relationships: Jairo | Swaine & Lars | Marcassin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	in this life that we call home

The orphanage was a large, well-kept place, illuminated by soft firelight and the sound of laughter. Opened fifty-two years ago by a man who knew intimately the feeling of being alone, named after a dear friend who shared that pain, cared for with gentle, scarred hands and a heart that had begun to bleed. No child that came there would suffer as he did, and though it was never easy to care for so many, he was a stubborn old fool, and was remembered fondly by the children who were given a second chance and the warmth of a father inside the building’s walls.  
Although he’d assisted in saving the world, he’d considered the place his greatest pride, and his friends all agreed (except for one, who thought saving the world was a pretty flippin’ big deal). The Emperor visited whenever he got the chance, which was quite often given its proximity to the palace, with the boy wizard and his tiny companion coming weekly and the familiar-keeper making the long trek at least once a month to catch up. All these years, they never missed a trip once, and as the world pieced itself back together, he took comfort in the steady routine. No more running away, prison cells, broken hearts, thievery. Just his two families, the children and the party alike.  
The old fool was satisfied, for the first time. After a life of chaos and hurt, he knew what he wanted to do, and he did it. He settled. The old prince was at peace.

Swaine, eighty-four, laid in his bed with his hands folded over his chest, eyes calmly shut. His familiar sat with it’s back leaning against the bed frame, sharing his companion’s serenity, though the scars of battle stung every time he breathed. It was quiet, nothing daring to disturb the silence they shared.  
The door opened.  
“Evening, Marcassin,” he said, his eyes still shut. “Nice of you to come on such short notice.”  
“Hello, Swaine. Hello, Gunther,” Marcassin replied, shutting the door behind him. His deep blue hair had turned a muted grey, and his old scepter had become a makeshift cane. “One of the children came to the palace. Said you’d sent for me?”  
Swaine’s health had been waning, no longer the deft thief he used to be, and most visits were spent with him bound to his bed without the energy to move. It’d be impossible to tell from his speech, however, still sarcastic and witty as ever, and he would still force himself to get up and work on most days. Though Esther would poke fun at him for being lazy, he’d been stubborn as hell his whole life, and he wasn’t about to let old age stop him from his work.  
The old fool finally opened his eyes, but did not sit up. Though he had calmed down in his later years, he was never this quiet, this… peaceful. Acceptance and denial struck the Emperor at the same time as he connected the dots in his head. Marcassin took a seat at a chair they’d set next to his bed for nights like these, trying to find the words to say to break the heavy silence, but was interrupted by Swaine suddenly speaking up.  
“Marcassin, it’s my time,” he murmured, his voice was hardly above a whisper.  
Marcassin nearly choked on his words, but forced them out with as much grace as he could muster.  
“I know.”  
Swaine raised a hand toward his brother, who took it in his own. A moment passed between the two, until the old familiar finally raised his head, looking up at Marcassin with a short grunt. They didn’t have long. Make your peace, his tired eyes said. Let us rest.  
“Had a good run, didn’t I?” Swaine didn’t sound like a man on his deathbed, a sly smile the years couldn’t take from him spreading across his face. “Had a hell of an adventure. Did good things, all good things. Shame you missed out on most of it. You would’ve liked it.”  
“I was there in the end, wasn’t I?” He smiled back slightly, eyes beginning to water.  
“That you were. Stealing our spotlight, prettyboy.”  
Marcassin laughed, a short, bittersweet thing, squeezing Swaine’s hand. “Don’t kid yourself. You couldn’t have done it without me, dear brother.”  
“Oh, don’t you get sentimental, with the ‘dear brother’ and all that. Don’t make me start crying too. Come on. Call me an idiot or something, for Esther’s sake.”  
“I shouldn’t have to tell you what you already know.”  
“There you go!” Swaine laughed, loud and full of what little life he had left. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”  
“Piss off,” Marcassin said, though he couldn’t hold back his growing smile. “Let me have this.”  
“Alright, alright. Go on. Give me a proper Emperor’s speech.” Swaine looked at him with shining eyes. They’d never lost that mischievous gleam, the sharp look that had let him become a master at pickpocketing and tinkering alike, the collection of complex guns he’d made sitting on his desk. One was left half-finished, abandoned among the rest. It would be completed by Oliver and Drippy years in the future and would be given to Marcassin as a keepsake, but for now, however, all he cared about was his brother.  
“All these years… you’ve been so kind to me, Swaine. Any time I was scared, I’d come to you… You were safe. You were my only comfort.”  
“Only that natural I’d come to protect my baby brother, isn’t it?”  
“Still, you’ve always meant the world to me. I’ve always looked up to you, you know that?”  
Swaine’s face fell slightly, casting his gaze to the side. “You didn’t see everything, Marcassin. You wouldn’t have liked the years we spent apart.”  
“Does it matter? I’ve seen enough.” He shifted closer to his brother, wiping away tears that threatened to fall. “I saw you save my heart.”  
“That was Oliver.”  
“You helped.”  
Swaine groaned, but didn’t protest.  
“I saw you mourn our father, despite everything he’d done to you. I watched the way you treated Oliver and Esther, like they were your own children… I watched you build this place from the ground up and take care of it for fifty odd years. You’re a good man. Don’t tell me you aren’t. People love you-“ he finally choked and sobbed, looking to Swaine with a smile. “So many people love you. I love you. Don’t tell me I wouldn’t like it. I’ve seen enough. I don’t care.”  
“Alright, alright. Good lord.” Swaine rolled his eyes, but smiled softly. After a moment, however, he shut his eyes, sighing and going quiet.  
“Marcassin,” he said, “I think I’m ready.”  
Heavy silence hung between them as tears openly started to fall from Marcassin’s eyes, hitting his shaking hands and running down onto Swaine’s. He knew this was coming, he’d known it for years, but nothing could ever prepare him for it. Nothing could ever prepare him for the peace in his brother’s eyes, the calm, steady breathing of his once vigorous familiar, and by the gods, nothing could get him ready for the soft, awful acceptance in his brother’s voice. Death was meant to be a powerful thing for men like him. Swaine was meant to go out in a blaze of glory, not wasting away in his bed, welcoming his fate with open arms. Let him feel justified in his mourning, please, dear gods, don’t take his brother away so sweetly. Don’t kill him with such a gentle hand, so forgiving and soft. Don’t do this to him. Don’t leave him alone like this.  
But the old fool deserved his rest.  
Marcassin shakily smiled at his brother.  
“Father would be proud of you, Swaine.”  
“To hell with what he thinks.” Swaine turned to face Marcassin, smiling. “Are you?”  
“Good gods, of _course_ ,” he sobbed, unable to restrain himself. “Of course.”  
“Then that’s all I need to hear.”   
His eyes closed once more, the last time they ever would.  
“Good-night, Marcassin. Be good. I love you.”  
For one sacred moment, they were young again, the charming young emperor and his stubborn big brother, their bond unbreakable even in the face of separation. They’d been given their happiness. Their peaceful life together, something they thought they’d never have. And for one moment, the last blessing they were ever graced with together, they were allowed to simply be, to be Swaine and Marcassin, and nobody could take it away from them.  
“Good-night, Gascon,” his poor little brother choked out, “I love you.”  
The old fool breathed his last.  
The Prince of Hamelin was at peace.


End file.
